


see it fall, child of wolf

by kerrykhat



Series: and you thought the lions were bad [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, idk even know, this is a thing that I wrote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerrykhat/pseuds/kerrykhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sansa Stark who first arrived in King's Landing had been a sweet summer child. The Sansa Stark she was now knew the meaning behind her House’s words. Winter had come and left a hardened, brittle shell behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	see it fall, child of wolf

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** George RR Martin owns "A Song of Ice and Fire" and all related characters; I own nothing.  
>  **Warning:** Season 3 spoilers for Game of Thrones/spoilers for A Storm of Swords. AU for a certain event.  
>  **Author's Note:** I don't even know where this came from. It just happened. I blame ohmytheon for getting me to ship Catwin in all of its fucked up glory.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that she had ridden up to the gates of King’s Landing. She had just been Sansa Stark then, a silly little girl with her head full of songs and stories. Yes, she had mourned her direwolf, but she had still been happy in her own way. So sure of what she wanted and what her dreams would lead too. So lost in her fantasy of being betrothed to the golden prince of her dreams.

(When she looked back on it, Lady’s death was an omen of what was to come: the Lannisters killing and destroying everything and everyone that she loved.)

The Sansa Stark that entered towards King’s Landing by boat today wasn’t the same Sansa Stark from three years ago. She’d played a role in her father’s death, a guilt she carried to this day. She’d been brutalized by King Joffrey and his Kingsguard. She’d been forced to marry by the King’s Hand in order to ensure her continued captivity. She had donned of Alayne Stone so thoroughly that even weeks after she’d discarded the disguise, she had difficulty remembering where the fictitious bastard girl ended and she began. 

The Sansa Stark who had first arrived had been a sweet summer child. The Sansa Stark she was now knew the meaning behind her House’s words. Winter had come and left a hardened, brittle shell behind.

“Are you well, Sansa?” her traveling companion asked, concern in her eyes. Myranda Royce, along with Lord Yohn Royce, accompanied Sansa on the boat from Gulltown to the capital. It was to give her companionship during the journey, as well as to provide protection once she arrived. Even after the conclusion of the war, the Stark name wasn’t welcome this far south. And as much as it pained her to depend on somebody who could easily betray her as so many others had, they were there to help tell the Queen Regent and the Hand that she played no role in Joffrey’s death.

But they had a debt to pay to her for helping restore the rightful order in the Vale and she intended to collect, even if it meant returning to the one place she’d hoped never to see again. 

_You’re a Lannister now_ , Sansa thought bitterly. _And Lannisters always pay their debts._

“As well as I can be, Randa,” Sansa quietly reassured the closest thing to a friend she had. Randa gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as the boat bumped up against the dock. They had arrived back to the viper’s pit that she had been so desperate to escape from a year before.

But then, what choice did she really have? The lords of the Vale didn’t want to invite war into their land. They’d heard the news from the Riverlands. Allowing her to escape would only invite the Lannister’s destructive wrath upon them. Her home had been given to the treacherous Boltons, and while the smallfolk in the North might rally behind the last surviving Stark, they remembered the price the last rebellion had cost them. And with Stannis Baratheon lost up near the Wall, it was the Lannisters who controlled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Unless she wanted to flee across the Narrow Sea to the Free Cities, returning to King’s Landing was her only option.

 _I must be as strong as my lady mother_ , Sansa reminded herself, stepping into the litter Lord Royce had waiting for them. She ignored the stab of grief that ran through her, turning it instead to the cold anger that fueled her these days. Catelyn Stark was lost to her, killed in the Red Wedding that had claimed the life of Robb and Sansa’s best hope for freedom. 

_Father. Mother. Robb. Arya. Bran and Rickeon. Lady._. The pain that had disappeared while she played at being Alayne had come back as soon as she reclaimed her life, nearly debilitating her at times. She only had Jon Snow left, and gods knew where he was. As much as she’d spurned him back when she had been silly and young (oh so young), she would pay anything to see him now. Maybe between the two of them, the bastard and the lady, they could reclaim some of the family she’d lost. Until then, however, she was on her own.

All too soon, they traveled through the streets of the city and entered the Red Keep. _Back into the lion’s den_ , she wanted to mutter to herself, but instead she kept quiet. She didn’t want Randa and Lord Royce to see her fear. She was wearing a different mask now, one of her own forging instead of Petyr’s. One that would, she hoped, help keep her alive long enough to get what she wanted. 

The door opened and for the first time in over a year, Sansa stepped into the gilded cage that had been her prison. The hood of her dark blue cloak was drawn, wreathing her face in shadows that would hopefully hide her appearance until the appropriate time.

“This way, Lord Royce,” the gold cloak that had been waiting for them indicated. “The Hand is expecting you. One of the servants will collect…”

“Her presence is required,” Lord Royce cut off the gold cloak, an unpleasant looking fellow with a shifty look in his hard grey eyes, with a gesture towards Sansa. 

“Very well,” the other man replied after a long pause. He peered curiously at Sansa’s face, but the hood was large enough for its shadows to blur her features. “Follow me, my lord, my lady.” She and Lord Royce followed him, leaving Randa behind.

Much to Sansa’s relief, instead of being shown to the throne room, they were lead to the Tower of the Hand and to the small council chamber housed within. She didn’t know if her carefully constructed mask would be able to survive the scrutiny of the court so soon.

 _A lady’s armor is her courtesy_. That had been her first and most important lesson and the one she instantly called forth. Her courtesy and the tricks that Littlefinger had taught her were the only weapons she carried. 

Sansa only hoped they would be enough to defend a lone wolf against a pack of lions determined to rip her to shreds.

The gold cloak knocked on the door, opening it only when a muffled voice called out, “Enter.”

Led by Lord Royce, she filed into a chamber dominated by a large table. From her father’s time as King Robert’s Hand, she knew this was where the small council met to discuss the affairs of the realm, but today there was only one person occupying the room.

Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King for King Tommen Baratheon, first of his name, watched coolly as they bowed and curtseyed respectively. Only when his clear, sharp voice said, “What is this new information you promised me in regards to the death of my grandson?” did they rise.

“My lord,” Yohn Royce began, his gaze focused at the floor around Lord Tywin’s feet, “the lords of the Vale recently discovered that Lord Petyr Baelish, former Master of the Coin for the realm, was behind the poisoning of the late King Joffrey.”

Lord Tywin stilled and Sansa could swear the room froze. “How came you by this knowledge?” he demanded softly.

“He misplaced his trust, my lord,” Sansa answered quietly before Lord Royce could speak. Lord Tywin’s gaze turned to her, and Sansa’s breath stilled for a brief moment before she forced herself to continue. “He discussed the matter with me, believing that I wouldn’t betray him.”

“And who might you be, who speaks so boldly?”

She nearly laughed. She wasn’t bold. Arya was bold. Bran was bold. She was just a little wolf, trying to save her own life. Instead of answering, she lowered her hood, revealing her face and Tully-red hair. 

“Your good-daughter, my lord,” she answered, forcing those bitter, hateful words out in as polite and gentle a tone as she could. For all that their marriage had been unconsummated, Tyrion Lannister was still her lord husband and Tywin Lannister her good-father. As much as she still thought herself a Stark, she was a Lannister now, bound to the house that had destroyed hers.

“I had no role in Joffrey’s death, my lord” Sansa continued Lord Tywin calmly, keeping her face free of the dread that gripped her heart. “The fool, in gratitude for my speaking for him, offered me assistance in reaching my last remaining family member. It was only after he took me from the Red Keep and to the boat destined to Gulltown that Lord Baelish revealed his role in this plan and in poisoning King Joffrey.”

Sansa didn’t mention that Petyr had implicated the Queen of Thorns in his confession to her. Not even Lord Royce knew, and Sansa wasn’t about to reveal that piece of information, not yet. Secrets had currency and she needed to hoard hers in order to survive.

Lord Tywin’s cold green eyes narrowed, and the Sansa of old would have trembled at the unforgiving expression on his face. Even after all she’d been through in the intervening year, she struggled to maintain her composure under his scrutiny. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe, Lady Sansa, seeing as Lord Baelish is not here to give the particulars of the matter himself.”

“Lord Baelish was executed for the King’s death and the murder of Lady Lysa,” Lord Royce broke in. “He believed to be speaking with Lady Sansa in confidence, when in reality I and other members of the Lords Declarant were within earshot.”

“I have difficulty believing that Lord Baelish would have lowered his guard enough for that to occur.” Ice dripped from his words and Lord Royce shrank slightly. But Sansa Stark was from the North and she could survive worse than ice.

“He bore a fondness for my lady mother,” Sansa answered smoothly, allowing a shade of her grief to color her voice. Not enough to undo her, but hopefully enough to convince Lord Tywin of the truth. “He saw himself as a father figure to me and treated me as he would a daughter, and could never dream of a daughter’s betrayal.”

_Except I did betray my father, back when I was young and foolish and selfish and couldn’t see beyond myself._

She could feel the unspoken words lodge in her throat and it took all her strength to continue speaking.

“I know I have done little to deserve your mercy, my lord, after the kindness you extended to me in welcoming me into your family after my brother’s treason, but I beg of you.” She dropped to her knees and bowed her head. “Forgive me for not acting sooner and for helping Lord Baelish in killing King Joffrey, however unintentionally.”

 _Let him think me a silly girl_ , Sansa prayed silently, feeling the hard floor press against her knees. _Let him think of me as nothing but the girl he trapped because she trusted the wrong person._

“Leave us, Lord Royce.” Lord Tywin’s voice, however soft, echoed in the otherwise silent chamber. “I will speak to you shortly.”

She listened to Lord Royce excuse himself and the door shut loudly behind him, leaving just her and the one man she continued to wish dead on a nightly basis. 

He stood and she watched his boots approach where she continued to kneel. He stopped less than a foot from her and said nothing. Without looking, she could feel the full weight of his regard on her. Only by focusing on the numbness spreading through her legs and the slow, steady beat of her heart was she able to remain still. 

“You risked everything to flee, only to return on your own accord, Lady Sansa,” he finally spoke, his voice still dripping ice. “You are either brave or foolish.”

“As I said earlier, my lord,” Sansa demurred, keeping her eyes focused in front of her. “You are my good-father. After the death of my aunt at Lord Baelish’s hands, I have nowhere to turn for protection.”

She could feel her mask threatening to crack, threatening to expose her disgust and anger at the man standing before her. Only her time as Alayne kept her face smooth and free of what she truly felt. 

“Is that the only reason you returned here? What about your lady mother?”

Sansa’s head jerked up and she spat the words through suddenly numb lips, “That is a cruel jest, my lord. My lady mother was _murdered_ when Lord Frey betrayed guest rights at my uncle’s wedding feast on your orders.” Damn being a wolf pretending to be a silly little dove. How dare he mock her, when he was the one who orchestrated the Red Wedding and her remaining family’s murder? 

If it weren’t for the fact that her only weapons within reach were her courtesy and her manners, she would have stood and attacked Lord Tywin. In that moment, she hated him like she hated nobody else. Joffrey had been a monster, but undisciplined and unpredictable in his cruelties. Everything Lord Tywin did, from her experiences and from what she’d heard, was done with cool deliberation, which made it all the worse in her eyes.

At least Tyrion had been kind to her in his own way. 

_I will see you suffer as I have, by the old gods and the new, I swear it._

An amused look flitted over the Hand’s face, almost too briefly for Sansa to catch. “Get to your feet, Lady Sansa,” he ordered, his face giving nothing away. He extended a hand to help her stand, and she briefly considered spurning it only to catch herself. Now wasn’t the time for childish antics, no matter how badly she wanted to give in to those urges. 

Sansa let go of his hand as soon as she stood up. She met his gold-flecked green eyes calmly, refusing to be intimidated by him, despite the fact he towered over her and held her fate in his hands. Later, if she survived this, she could berate herself for being this careless in not showing deference, but she was still far too angry to care. 

Again, that flash of something on his face before he turned towards the door and strode towards it, clearly expecting her to follow.

After her time at sea, Sansa’s land legs had yet to return, and it was more of a challenge than it should have been to keep pace. But she remembered the halls Lord Tywin lead her through and she managed to follow closely behind.

Fortunately, the halls in this section of the keep were blessedly empty. She had now doubt, however, that soon word of her arrival would spread like wildfire. You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting some sort of spy, be it one of Lord Varys’ little birds or the Queen Regent’s minions.

She frowned slightly when she recognized where in the Tower they were headed. Why would Lord Tywin be bringing her to his personal chambers? For the first time, dread overcame the cold anger that had been fueling her and she could feel her hand begin to tremble. The cells, she might have been able to handle with some sort of dignity. This… she wasn’t sure.

Without a glance back, he opened the door to his chambers, Sansa tailing close behind. Her anxiety only grew when he continued through the study and towards the bed chamber. Again, he opened the door, only to stop in the doorway. She nearly ran into his back, so sudden was the stop, and only a last minute catch saved her from that embarrassment.

“My lord?” a voice asked from inside, and Sansa felt her knees go weak and her breath catch. 

No. This couldn’t be. This had to be a trick, triggered by Lord Tywin’s question about her mother. Her mother was dead, along with Robb and most of his bannermen. That couldn’t be her voice coming through the open door, not unless it was some restless spirit. 

“There is somebody here to see you,” he said, stepping in and to the side, revealing Catelyn Stark lying on the bed within propped up on a series of pillows.

Sansa stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the sight before her. “M-m-mother?” she stammered, wondering if she finally had gone mad. She took one, then two tentative steps forward, Lord Tywin’s presence completely forgotten.

“Sansa?” 

It was the hope in her mother’s voice that undid all of her careful construction of self. Sansa rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her mother.

 _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry_ , she wanted to say, but they just came out as sobs. She buried her head in her mother’s shoulder. 

Catelyn’s hands reached up to stroke her hair as she murmured into Sansa’s ear, “Oh, sweetling. My sweet Sansa.”

It just made her cry harder, her breath coming out in ragged gasps and her shoulders shaking. Her mother continued to stroke her hair and rub her back, soothing her much like she had Rickeon when he fussed, while her tears soaked Sansa’s hair.

Slowly, Sansa collected herself and pulled away from her mother’s embrace.

“How?” she chocked out, taking in Catelyn’s appearance. Her mother’s hair had begun to grey and there were a series of lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there when Sansa had last seen her. Despite the smile on her face, there was a sadness in her mother’s face that mirrored what Sansa carried inside her.

That’s when Sansa remembered where she was. Whose room this had to be. She also became aware of the bulge of her mother’s stomach, hidden under the heavy red blankets on the bed.

“No,” she whispered, realization dawning over her. “Mother…”

“I did what I had to do,” Catelyn told her, resignation in her voice. She brushed back Sansa’s hair and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I did what I had to do to protect my brother and the realm.”

Sansa closed her eyes and hugged her mother tightly again. A wave of anger rushed through her, overwhelming any relief she had felt at the discovery of her mother’s survival.

 _They have us both now,_ she thought bitterly. _We’re both trapped in this lion’s den._


End file.
